Palas' desk was a disaster.  Anna sat behind stacks of memos and reports, and shook her head in  wordless dismay.  There was a communique from Deet's Council objecting yet again to widespread vaccination.  The Church would seem to be the most likely instigator of this latest flap.  It continued its vehement insistence that the plague was an act of God.  But the real power allied against them was economic.  Blackstone slave labor was cheap and durable.  Deet was surrounded by landed barons who depended on the  slaves in their fields and factories.

Anna threw the letter back onto the pile, exasperated.  Palas should have dealt with this at once, sent back one of her famous "fuck you do it" letters - or, as they said around the water cooler, FYDIs.

There was more.  Squabbles erupted frequently between Horde commanders and the Consortium's arrogant militia.  A unique set of problems were presented by their non-human "guests," of whom they seemed to find more with each new level of the ship they explored.  There were engineering breakdowns, conversion flops, computer crashes.  No wonder Palas went rocketing off after Danner.

The phone rang.  Anna glared at it.  Defiantly, it rang again.

"What do you want?"

"Darling!  You missed me!"

Alan.  Her day needed only that.

"They found you, I take it."

"Found me?  Try dragged me out of my bed and the arms of a nubile young. . ."

"Spare me the damp details.  Where are you?"

"Deet.  Transport station.  Is it true? We've got a usable link to Devia?"

"Put that thought right out of your mind.  How soon before you transport?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"You throwing your weight around, Madame Administrator.  I've got two Consortium patrols ahead of me and they ain't the charitable type."

So she threw it, and with more tact that Palas would have used.  In truth, she needed Alan.  With the probable exception of the Doctor, Alan Masterson knew more about the danship than anyone, and that included the pathetic remnants of the Dev.  It would take him another twenty minutes to get up here, make his way through the vast ship via the various transmats, to Palas' command center, two miles from the danship core.

Anna bent her attention to the most pressing of the diplomatic crises and had worked her way through the worst pile when the door to the office slid noisily open.   Another note: get someone up here to fix the damn doors.

"Captain McAllister?"

Startled, she looked up.  Two men and a woman stood in front of the desk.  The woman and one of the men were dressed in outlandish, high-collared robes.  The third man wore a military uniform and humorless scowl.  Anna smiled and nudged the small panic button installed in the knee-space of the desk.

"I'm sorry, she's not in.  Can I help you?"

"Where is the Doctor?"

"I'm a doctor.  Will I do?"

Great.  Time Lords.  Had to be.  They were staring down their noses the way she examined bits of cellular material under the microscope.  The man in the shiny robe spoke first:   "I am Tiberius.  This is my colleague, Romanadvoratrelunder.  We represent the Gallifreyen Council of Time Lords."

"An honor.  To what do we owe the pleasure?"  Where the hell was security?

"Who are you?" he demanded suddenly.  "Where is Captain McAllister?  We were given to understand that she was in charge of this ship."

"I'm Dr. Anna Taylor.  The Captain is away on business and I'm standing in for her."

The woman stepped forward.  She smiled.  "Please call me Romana.  The other is such a mouthful.  The Doctor and I are old friends.  I noticed his TARDIS when we came aboard."

"The Doctor is with the Captain.  I'm afraid you've come all this way for nothing."

"This is absurd!"  Tiberius was losing patience. "Madam, we are here to relieve you of this alien vessel.  Doubtless this seems very irregular, but I'm certain that once we've spoken to Captain McAllister, she will agree that it's the most sensible course to take."

"Why on Earth would she agree to that?"  Anna asked.

"This ship is extraordinarily advanced, far beyond technology your people have developed or are likely to in the foreseeable future.  Unfortunately,  there are serious problems occurring in the center of this ship, problems that, if not addressed promptly, will have disastrous consequences on this solar system and beyond.  We, as Time Lords, are familiar with the technology utilized here and are much better
qualified to handle the problem.  In the long run, Dr. Taylor, it will be much safer."

Anna listened intently to Tiberius, but shook her head.  "If you're talking about the Devian probe, we are aware of it and taking steps to correct the problem.  I am grateful for your concern, however.   Perhaps, when you return to Gallifrey, you could leave me with the means to contact you.  We can arrange a meeting when Palas and the Doctor return."

The Time Lords exchanged glances.  Tiberius was annoyed; Romana looked troubled.  The third Time Lord only scowled.

"Dr. Taylor," Tiberius tried again.  "Perhaps I did not make myself clear.  This is a situation that endangers not only your world but thousands of others.  You must relinquish this vessel immediately.   We will, of course, allow you the time to move your personnel back to the planet."

Running footsteps outside the office told Anna security was finally on its way.  The yet unnamed man, however, turned and touched something on the wide gold band around his wrist.  The next moment, there was frantic pounding on the door.

"Dr. Taylor!  Dr. Taylor!"

"Door's jammed!  Call tech!"

"Anna?"  Alan's voice.  "What the fuck's going on?  Open the door!"

"I'm afraid that Tiberius is right, Dr. Taylor.  We cannot risk an uncontrolled time rift so near populated worlds."  The Timelady, Romana, sounded genuinely regretful.  "It really is for your own good."

Anna sighed and reached.  The door ripped open, pouring men into the tiny office.  There was an angry exclamation from Tiberius, the Time Lords touched their bracelets and were gone.  Alan pushed through the excited Riders to the desk.

"What the. . .?"

"Remember the Doctor's warning?"

"Time Lords?"

"Yep."  Anna pushed her chair back from the desk and stood.  Miles were there, shoving his men aside.

"What is it, Dr. Taylor?"

"I want guards around the protoship, and double the patrols through the command center!   How long until the probe reappears?"

Miles looked unhappy.  "It's overdue by three hours."

"WHAT?"

He nodded glumly.  She fell back into the chair and stared at them all, dismayed.

"That's just great," Anna said finally, faintly.  "What does that mean?"

"Let's not panic," Alan suggested.  "I'll look over the equipment.  Maybe there's a fault in it somewhere."

"I hope so," Anna sighed.  "Because if there isn't another probe, God only knows how our friends will get back."

******

Danner slept badly.  Nightmares haunted what bits of sleep he did get, and just before dawn, he abandoned the attempt.  Pulling the bed from the door, he sat with his back to the wall and watched the slash of window gradually lighten.

No one had tried the door during the night.  It was the second character call he'd made in the same year that actually worked -- the Doctor being his first.  Maybe he was actually learning how to judge people after a hundred and eighty odd years.

The tiny room continued to brighten.  The sphere turned itself off, and still no one came.  Danner was hungry, thirsty, and needed to attend to certain other bodily functions.  He got up and tried the door.  It did not budge.  As he tested it, judging the force needed to break the bolt, he heard footsteps on the stair outside.  Ready for anything, he waited as the door was unlocked.

The little dana peered in.  "Get your cloak," she said urgently.  "There are Protectors, and a warwitch  on their way to the tarn!  You must not be found here!"

"Lord Mzara?"  He was already moving, sweeping up the cloak.  She fidgeted impatiently.

"Preparing to greet them.  Hurry!"

"Um . . ."

She was already gone.  Throwing on the cloak, pulling the hood forward to hide his dark hair, Danner followed at a run.  Outside, the sun was quickly drying the paving stones.  He smelled stable and the faint odor of water and decay -- probably marsh.

He stopped dead.

Last night, in the darkness and storm, Mzara Tarn had seemed grim, utilitarian, with none of the Dev's typical love of intricate detail.  But in the sunlight he saw what the darkness had hidden.  The great walls protecting the tarn were not featureless stone.  Their soaring, perfectly flat surfaced were covered with hundreds of thousands of intricate, embossed patterns.  The sun caught their etched outlines and, as Danner hurried after the dana, turned the wall into a kaleidoscope of subtle color and design.

"Hurry!"

They rounded a corner and a wall blocked their path.  The dana paused and looked over her shoulder.  Then, far too rapidly for him to follow, she touched one symbol, then another.  An opening appeared.  She slipped inside and with growing unease, the blackstone followed.

The passage was very low and very narrow.  It was also very dark.  Even his vision could make nothing from the complete absence of light.  A moment later, however, the dana removed one of the light spheres from her voluminous cloak.  It illuminated very little, as if the sheer mass of stone was too much for it.  She started quickly along the passage and he hurried to keep up.

"What is a warwitch?"

"You must be an Exile, that you have no knowledge of warwitches.  And keep your voice down, iri'dan!  The main hall lies on the other side of this wall."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, wondering if all danae were so bossy.  Maybe there was a change in brain structure or something.

"Warwitches are danae of the highest rank," she continued after a moment.  "Only the Sher'dana is higher."

"How do you get to be a warwitch?"

"By going through the Challenge.  The farther one gets, the higher the rank.  The dana who goes farthest is named Sher'dana.  For the last thousand years she has, interestingly, always been a Sidhain."

Not so young, thought Danner suddenly, and did some rapid revision in years and generations.

The passage ended at a long room.  The ceiling was still very low and there was a sepulcher hush that spoke of great age and isolation.  The dana seemed to find it daunting as well, for she sat down just inside the door and set the sphere floating before her.

"What's your name?"  he asked finally, the silence getting to him.

"Shieann."  Shyly.

He grinned and, after a moment, she returned his smile tentatively.

"I'm Danner.  Danner Renwolf.  Pleased to meet you, Lady Shieann.  What is this place?"

She shrugged.  The hood of her cloak fell back and shining hair fell around her thin shoulders. "It is a Silent place.  Many years ago, before the Exiles developed their technologies, the dana governed this world.  I am ashamed to say that we did not use our gifts to serve the people.  Benara threatens to return us to that time.  It was necessary again to have a place that will shelter us from their Seeking.   Look above you, iri'dan."

She moved her hand and the globe floated upward.  Its weak light sparkled off a field of  crystalline stars, black -- no -- red, but very dark.  There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of  jewel chips embedded in the ceiling.  Danner had seen the crystal before -- in the ring the "Cardinal" had used to subjugate Palas and Anna.  He looked at Shieann curiously.

"You aren't bothered by those?"

She shrugged.  "I am not a very powerful dana.  It is why I am here, with my grandfather, and not in Sidhain'tan.  Indanite bothers me, yes.  There is a ceaseless buzzing in my brain that is very distracting.   If I sit here long enough, it will give me a headache.  But Chalana will not be able to Seek through it."

"This warwitch -- do you know why she's coming to the tarn?"

"It could be many things, of course, but we are afraid someone saw us in Raynig'tan.  If that is so, she will almost certainly Seek for you.  So we sit here until she gives up and leaves."

"Lord Mzara is in no danger?"

"My grandfather is lord of one of the greatest Clans in Devia.  We have not yet come to the point when such a man may be subjected to Truthseek at the whim of a warwitch.  Nor can he be dragged off in chains, iri'dan.  Of course, both these things may come to pass if Benara does indeed bond to the Sil.   No, even if Chalana suspects, she must petition the Fastigium to question him.  Doubtless she would
get it.  Lord Drago will not stand in her way."

Danner blinked.  "Drago?"

"The Lord Visandri."  Her voice was filled with contempt.  "Benara's lapdog.  He is the traditional head of the Assembly."  Seeing he was still confused, she explained: "The Fastigium is a Council, the highest  in Devia, and it is made up of two parts - the Lords' Assembly and the Sher'dan.  The Assembly is composed of all High Clan Lords.  It is their duty to represent the interests of the Clans, High and Minor.  The Sher'dan represents all danae.

"Lord Visandri is leader of the Assembly, but he approves the Sher'dana's most outrageous demands without question or protest.  Thirty years ago, he transferred authority over the Protectors to Sidhain'tan. Now there is talk of giving the Sher'dana power to veto laws she deems unfit!   It would take little persuasion for Visandri to strip the last rights from the Clans."

Something far back along the passage clattered.  Danner was on his feet, finger to his lips, gesturing for her to move away from the door, to keep close to the wall and out of sight.

"Lady Shieann!"

"It's Lord Avran - he's one of us!"

Danner didn't much care, but the little dana immediately stood up. "Lord Avran!"

"She's taking him!"  A young man, elegantly if somewhat untidily attired, burst into the room, wild-eyed.  "The bitch is arresting him, my lady!  I was watching from the library window!"

"On whose authority can she do this?"  Shieann's voice trembled.

"I don't know.  None!  I could not hear, but who do you think has ordered it?  How DARE she?"

"Benara has the Protectorate.  She can do whatever she will," was Shieann's bitter reply.  "What are we to do?"

"Get out of here," advised Danner shortly.  "If they have the balls to arrest a High Lord, they'll be back to comb this place."

"This is the l'Shylian iri'dan!"  The young dana said as Lord Avran glared mistrustfully at him.  "We must get him back to the Wall of Heaven!  It was my grandfather's intention."

Well, that was good.  It was Danner's intention, too.

"Will l'Shylian help us?"  demanded Lord Avran.  "Or will your lords throw in their lot with Benara?"

"I can't say," was Danner's honest reply.  "We won't know until we ask, will we?"

Lord Avran looked as if he might argue, but Danner had other plans.  He brushed past the young lord and returned to the passage.

"What are you doing?"

"Having a look at the situation.  How did you get down here without being seen?"

"Through the door in the library paneling.  Lord Chel told all of us that secret."

"Lead on, Lord Avran."

"Iri'dan!"  Lady Shieann hissed, outraged.

"Shhhh." he grinned, and followed the Dev youth into the courtyard.

Likely Mzara Tarn was riddled with priest holes and secret passages.  Lord Avran led them into a small chamber just off an unassuming door, pressed a tile in the old fireplace there, and ushered them through the opening that appeared beside it.  The passage itself was short.  At the end of it, Lord Avran found a switch and they stepped into a spacious, elegantly appointed chamber.  The young Dev ran immediately to the windows on the opposite side of the room.

The front courtyard spread out below, filled with mounted Protectors.  There was as well a short, heavy woman dressed in Protector garb standing before them, facing  Lord Mzara.  The lord was backed by his guard officers and several other men, but it was clear he was outnumbered.  Danner saw the gleam of las-rods aimed at Mzara's head.  A gasp escaped Lord Avran as a Protector approached the lord with shackles.

"By Vis!  They will pay for this!"  He whispered.

Something made Danner look past the troops, through the gate and down the causeway toward the bridge.  Two small figures, barely seen in the thinning mist of morning, were making their way toward the tarn.

Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
Oh, shit.

Danner left the window and ran for the door.

"Iri'dan!"

He fumbled at the latch and pulled it open.  Shieann's voice chased him down the carpeted hall.  Servants sprang from his path as he took the wide, curving stair to a marble foyer.  More servants were there, pressed against the great front door. Everyone looked terrified.  They scattered out of his way as he seized the handle and pulled.

"Iri'dan!  STOP!"

Dana power seized the handle and kept it fast.  He spun around, furious, as Shieanna ran down the stairs, Lord Avran on her heels.

"Are you mad?" she cried, just as angry as he.

"Your cousin is here with Pa -- my dana!"

Stunned, she released her hold.  He pulled the door open and stepped out.  The sun was higher, stronger, melting away the mist.  Several Protectors, and Lord Mzara, turned about and stared at him.  The warwitch's mouth dropped.

That's right.  Look at me.

"Well," the stocky dana said, a smile touching her soft features.  "You are caught in your lies, Mzara."

She gestured to her men who surged forward.  Mzara cursed as they laid hold of him, some of those curses directed at the human.  Danner paid no attention.  There was likely to a bloodbath if this Lady Chalana gave Palas any lip.  Ice flowed along his spine as the warwitch mounted the broad steps, never taking her golden eyes from his face.

"Ma'am.  I think there's something you should know . . ."

"They said you were exotic," she breathed.

"You have no idea," he promised softly.  "But I don't think you really want to find out just how exotic I am, witch."

At least his voice held steady.  His frightened heart beat noisily in his ears.

"Combat trained and ir'dan.  Blasphemy!.  The Heretics must be stopped."

Yet it excited her.  She made no effort to conceal her emotional output and he took an involuntary step backwards.  Came up against the door.

"Iri'dan, Lady.  And you'd be smart to talk about this."

There was nowhere else to go.  She was inches from him; her hand went to his hair.  It took superhuman effort not to pull away, to let her sift the dark strands through her fingers.

She touched his face and it was suddenly difficult to swallow.  That moment of contact delivered the unwelcome information that this witch was very close to relapse.  He knew it with absolute, instinctive certainty. Palas was in similar shape.  It was bad trouble for sure.

Miscalculated again, idiot.

"Lord Mzara!"

He could kill her, snap her neck with a single blow.  The chill confidence of that came from somewhere Danner did not care to look.  Snap her neck and then get fried by two dozen blasters.

The Protectors had brought the Dev Lord.  The fair-haired nobleman gave him a hard, unfriendly stare.

"Do you have a pleasing bedchamber, milord?" she purred.  "I think I will...question the Heretic privately."

Mzara took his time in answering.  He spat deliberately at their feet.

"Take him to the servants' quarters.  I'll have no whores in my beds, Lady Chalana."

Nice.

"You'll take him nowhere!"

As a man, the Dev turned about, followed the voice across the courtyard to the tarn's inner gate.  Framed in its arch were a tall, flame-haired woman holding the hand of a small child.  She said something to the boy and he disappeared.  When he was out of sight, she started toward them.

Danner!  Go!

The warwitch's fingers tightened in the blackstone's hair.  He reached up before she knew what he was about, found the spot just inside her elbow and pressed, praying their physiology was at least similar to humans.  It was.  She gasped as her arm fell, suddenly useless.  Furious, she screamed at the Protectors:   "Take her!  And bring me the Sil iri'dan!"

"No!"  Danner protested.  "Lady Chalana, don't -- oh, fuck!"

There was a shifting of realities.  Nothing outwardly changed, but the warwitch stepped back, doubt crossing her face.  Her caution came was too late.

Danner hauled the door open and pushed Shienna back into the tarn.   Mzara, also blackstone, saw what was coming.  Shaking off his gaping captors, he nodded to Danner and pulled Lord Avran around.  An impatient shove sent the young man stumbling after Shieanna.  "Go, iri'dan!"

A wind came out of nowhere, whirling through the courtyard, all but yanking the heavy panel from his hands.  Energy pulsed in the air around them..  There was another fine blurring of edges.  Someone cursed.  Danner slammed shut the door and leaned against it, heart pounding.

"I see l'Shylian also has warwitches," Lord Mzara observed in an unsteady voice.  "I hoped otherwise."

"It's an imperfect universe."

Something slammed into the heavy wood at his back.  Danner closed his eyes.  Just beyond his ken raged forces he had no desire to meet, forces unimpressed by doors or stone walls.  He put all his energy into his mental shields and held on.

"Iri'dan?"  Lord Avran was shaking him.   The Dev nobleman stepped hastily back as Danner, with a shuddering gasp, opened his eyes.  The subliminal chaos was gone.  Whatever happened, it was over.  He looked to Lord Mzara and Shieann.  Both were pale and dazed.  Shieann's nose was bleeding.  She wiped at it absently.

The door handle turned.  Lord Mzara looked up, grim faced.  The shock that replaced his resignation was almost worth what Danner knew was coming.

Palas stood in the doorway.  Behind her, bodies littered the courtyard.  There was no sign of Lady Chalana.  "You are Lord Chel Mzara?"

"I am."

"Good.  My lord, I bring you your nephew."  Palas' voice was thready.  "He asks Sanctuary from his mother's murderers.  Do you accept the supplicant's Petition?"

Mzara straightened.  There was a fine dew of sweat on his pallid features, but he nodded.  "Who asks on behalf of the Supplicant?"

"I ask, Lady Palas McAllister.  What is your answer?"

Where the hell was this coming from?

"I accept the Petition.  The Supplicant is welcome.  Henceforth, Djan Mzara-Raynig is Of the Clan Mzara.  I so swear it."

She turned.  "Djan!  You can come out now!"

A moment later, the child came running up the steps to grab her hand.  She walked across the gleaming foyer and stopped before Mzara.  Gently, she detached those small fingers.  "Go to your uncle, boy."

He gave her an uncertain look, then walked with a measure of dignity to his uncle's side.  As if something in their contact had sustained her, Palas suddenly swayed.

Mzara took a step toward her, but Danner was already there, arms around her, steadying her.  He met the wide gaze of the Dev lord.

"My lord?" His voice still calm, unhurried.  As if he wasn't scared almost out of his mind.  "We need a bedroom.  The servant's quarters will do fine."

The lord of Mzara'tan had the grace to flush.  "There will be no need.  We have a room upstairs that I hope will please you.  Come."

Palas was not up to walking.  He felt her slipping as she took a tentative step.

"I'm all right," she managed, pushing at him with an ineffectual hand.  "I can walk."

"No, you can't," he retorted and swept her off her feet.  She made a small sound of protest, struggling a little.

"Shhh," Danner whispered, mouth against her hair.  "It's going to be all right."

Then she stopped fighting him.  Her arms came up to wrap around his neck as he followed Lord Mzara up the wide, curving stair.

***
Hell was built of pearl grainite that caught and held the sunlight, spread it in waves of color across crenelated walls, dormers, widow's walks and towers.  It was illuminated by hundreds of mullioned windows that sparkled in the noon sun, each pane polished until they blazed like jewels in their grainite setting.

Hell was Raynig Tarn, and there was truly no escape.

Ksirin quickened the pace again.  Cthilian, lost in a haze of pain and exhaustion, staggered to keep up, praying that his legs would not simply give out.  Lady Alysia said something sharp and the pace slowed again.  He was dimly grateful.  The Lady had been a special friend to Katha.  Although his love had always sworn no one knew about them, he wondered now if Lady Alysia had guessed.  She had twice
reprimanded Ksirin on his behalf.

"You may have your petty revenge, Ksirin, but you will not present Lady Clayre with a corpse nor damage him until the child is found!"

They did not have Djan, but now even that was in doubt.  Cthilian had never reckoned on the warwitches.  He had failed spectacularly.

Peasants watched them from fields flanking the road.  Ahead, a low, moss-covered stone wall marked the beginning of the tarn's sprawling park.   They passed beneath the first of the massive fire-trees, boughs sagging beneath their spring glut of enormous, crimson blooms.  Across the velvet, spreading lawn, slaves were cleaning flower beds and laying out flats of blooms under the supervision of the tarn
gardeners.

"This is astonishing," the Doctor said to Lady Alysia.  "Are all Devian tarns this beautiful?"

Lady Alysia laughed.  "You will not give up, will you, Heretic?   You persist in this nonsense of being from another world.  Ah, well, at least you are consistent in your lies."

The ashas clattered across a wooden bridge spanning the lily-choked moat.  Ahead, the first gate reared above the trees, portcullis raised.  Men in crimson and silver stepped out to block their path.   Seeing Ksirin, they moved aside with equal haste.  The small party rode uncontested through the stone archway and across the tarn's inner park. More men in red and silver appeared.  With the Protectors in watchful attendance, the prisoners were hustled up broad, shallow steps and into a soaring entrance hall.

Servants scattered as the Doctor and Cthilian were hustled down corridors he could walk in his sleep.   Ahead was the library - tall doors standing open.  Cthilian felt slightly sick, breathless, and terrified.  Yet, as they were pushed into the library, a hard knot of anger tightened inside him.  He lifted his head and faced the lord of Raynig squarely across the room.  Ksirin cursed and yanked brutally on the leash, forcing him to his knees.  Then he saw Kel.  The younger Raynig stood beside
his brother, staring at Cthilian with equal shock.   He turned red, then white.  Flinging away a handful of short, polished sticks, Kel flew across the room at the prisoners.  A Protector stepped stolidly into his path, preventing the young lord from reaching the slave.

"Where is my son, alorin?"

"Kel!"  The older man's voice jerked the younger around.  "Try for some control."

"T'is not your son in the hands of Heretics!"  was Kel's enraged response.  "Or did you find him, witch, and you've come to tell me Sidhain'tan is taking him?"

Lady Alysia reddened.

"Lord Raynig" she icily addressed the older man, "I suggest you exercise your authority over your brother.  The alorin and Heretic are prisoners of the Sher'dana and beyond your son's vengeance."

"Do you think I don't know what went on here!  How many times did I see that bitch wife of mine whispering with Clayre?  Or with you, dear Lady Alysia.  The pack of you spinning your webs and intrigues.  You've never meant for him to be my son, did you?  I was the stud asha . . ."

The Lord Raynig walked swiftly around s polished gaming table and seized his brother's collar, jerking him back with such force the young Dev's snapped painfully back.  Another savage push forward sent Kel stumbling into the wall.  The distraught Dev whirled, fists raised.  It was not clear who Kel intended to strike -- Cthilian, returning his rage with defiance, or his elder brother.   The latter lifted a warning hand, unmoved by the younger Dev's fury.

"Another word, boy, and you will join the prisoners in the tower,"  he promised softly. "Remember, if you will, whose wife it was who threw herself from the battlements in loneliness and despair -- who bore the frequent bruises of your drunken assaults."

"Liar!"

The accusation broke from two pairs of lips.  Lord Raynig's eyes flew past his brother to the slave who was suddenly on his feet, fighting Ksirin's attempt to restrain him.

"You murdered her!"  Cthilian accused, common sense vanishing.  "She knew you would!  She told me!"

"Enough!"  cried the Lady Alysia and, for a second, it seemed as if the air had suddenly gone from the room.  "Take the prisoners to a secure place and hold them -- yes, Ksirin, even the slave."

"Lady Clayre gave me leave to question him."

"I will take responsibility for the change of orders," promised Alysia grimly.

"As you wish."  The Protector quickly and carefully smoothed over his resentment.  "I've carried out my orders.  The prisoners are delivered safely into your hands.  If there are no objections, I will rejoin my troops on the Wall."

"Go," she said, openly relieved at his easy capitulation.   She looked at Lord Raynig and something passed between them.

"Take them to the east tower,"  Raynig commanded the Protectors curtly.  "And no one but myself, Lady Alysia or my sister is to have access.  No one!"

He finally looked directly at Cthilian.  What the young Dev saw in that inimical stare chilled him to his soul.  "And as for you, whelp, I've something special in mind for you.  Think on that as you await Clayre.  I do not take kindly to being inconvenienced."

It was a long journey through the sprawling tarn. Cthilian's feet found the way of their own accord.  This was fortunate as his mind was occupied in shocked disbelief at his own behavior.  Had he run completely mad?

The east tower was well removed from the family's apartments.  It stood at the end of a long, bare corridor in the wing housing the house guard.  There were dungeons below and an inquisition chamber.  It seemed they were to be spared that, at least for now.

The spiral stair was steep and very narrow.   He had never been up here.  As far as Cthilian knew, the only prisoners of the tower had been some lord in the tarn's distant past.

They reached the top of the stairs and a Protector thrust open the door, revealing a round chamber with a single pallet, a chamber pot and several heavy iron rings embedded in the stone floor.  There were six windows, all of them open to the elements.  A stiff breeze blew in and around.  It would very cold after the sun went down.

The door slammed behind them and locked.  Cthilian, numb with fear and fatigue, simply stood, staring blankly at the floor.  The Doctor ran from window to window, then walked slowly back, thoughtful.

"Cthilian?"

When Cthilian did not move, the Time Lord reached over and gently took the forgotten leash from his neck.  The flesh beneath was raw and bleeding, but Cthilian barely felt it.  How could he have been so stupid?  As if he was not in enough trouble, he had shouted at the lord's brother, railed at him in front of a warwitch.  When Ksirin was finished with him, Cthilian thought queasily, Kel would claim what was left.

"How long have you been a slave?"

He blinked.  "I -- all my life."

"Is that usual?  One can be born into slavery on Devia?"

"No, sir.  Not usually.   Most slaves are convicted criminals.  They serve their sentence and are paroled.  I am alorin."   He could see the Doctor did not understand and tried again.  "Common Dev may marry who they choose, sir.  The High Clans may not.  Marriage here is matter of fortune and power; each union must be approved by the Fastigium.  When highborn lovers defy the law and have a child, the child is alorin and becomes property of the Sher'dana."

The Doctor stared him thoughtfully.  "Do you know who your parents were?"

"Of course not!"

"If you are property of the Sher'dana, why are you here?"

Cthilian sat down, legs suddenly too uncertain to trust.  The Doctor promptly joined him on the floor, maintaining that intent, slightly unnerving, regard.

"I -- I don't know.  A gift, I think.  Why?  What does it matter?  Doctor, they will open our minds and find our knowledge of Djan and the Lady!  We must DO something!"

"Where did you live before?"

Cthilian shrugged, leaning forward, tired and aching and not certain why all this was important.  "Sidhain Tarn."

"What was your life like there?  What did you do?"

"I worked, studied. . .   Doctor, what is all this about?"

"Studied?  Ah, never mind.  You're right.  We can't let these warwitches into our minds.  It's out of the question.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure what we can do about it."

The red-haired man jumped up and returned to the windows.  Curiosity overcame fatigue.  Cthilian stood and went to join him.  Far below was a widows' walk, and the hot, slanting expanse of copper roof.

"That's not going to work," muttered the Doctor, pulling away and running to the opposite side of the tower.  Here the view was even more breathtaking  - an unbroken fall to the earth.

"What do you know about this wing of the tarn?"

"There are the guard barracks below and below them, the house servants.  Below that, the kitchens and laundry, and deeper yet, the dungeons."

The Time Lord's odd, but appealing smile appeared briefly as he dug into his pockets.  A moment later he brought out a short silver rod and applied it to the lock.  There was a whispered click and the door sagged gently inward.  With a flourish, the Time Lord replaced the device.

"There is a guard barrack below!"  hissed Cthilian, not quite believing what he was seeing.

"True," the Doctor agreed amiably.  "That's why we must be very careful."

Cthilian almost refused to accompany the madman, then crept after him, heart hammering.  What did one more transgression count on the ever growing pile of them?

The Doctor used his device again at the base of the stair.  While Cthilian hovered apprehensively at his shoulder, the Time Lord opened the door a crack and peered out.  After what seemed an eternity, he suddenly stepped into the corridor beyond.  Cthilian scampered to keep up as the Doctor immediately ducked into a nearby room.

"What luck!" cried the Time Lord.

They stood in a closet.  The Doctor began shedding his clothes while simultaneously rooting through uniforms heaped on hooks along the wall.  Some of these he threw at the flabbergasted Cthilian.   "Put these on!"

Within a minute or two, both Dev and Time Lord was attired in the Raynig guard colors.  Pulling down the helm to hide his hair, the latter grinned at Cthilian's stunned expression.  "Ready?"

"No, sir," Cthilian replied fervently.

"That's the spirit!  Let's go!"

Whispering to him to keep his face averted, the Doctor added:  "And remember.  Act like a guard -- shoulders back, determined stride. . ."

Two guards stood at the far end of the corridor, near the door that led toward the lord's apartment.  Neither looked in their direction.

"How do we get downstairs and out of here?"

"That door -- it leads to the kitchens."

Afterwards, Cthilian would always remember their escape as a heart-pounding blur as they strolled along familiar corridors.  They hurried through the busy kitchen, scarlet forms given only cursory attention by the overworked servants.  In the courtyard outside, crowded with peddlers and their carts, noisy with the shrieks and laughter of the servants' children, not even other guards paid them any attention.  Suddenly the gate was before them and Cthilian realized in shock that they were almost free.

The Doctor pulled him out of sight behind a hayrick waiting its turn to leave the tarn.  "That's inconvenient," he said, nodding toward the two sentinels keeping a watchful eye at the gate.  "We need a distraction.  Ah!"

Three small boys were playing near the sentinels, kicking a ball around.  One of them, in his enthusiasm sent the ball flying.  It struck a sentinel sharply in the face.  The man promptly exploded in rage while his partner laughed.  Grabbing the offending boy, the Dev struck him several times acorss the face, shook him harshly, then flung him across the cobbled stone.

"Watch yerself, guttersnipe!  Wot are you laughin' at, Tesz?"

The boys, mutinous, slunk away, their bruised and bleeding comrade between them.  The other guard shook his head in disapproval, turning back to a waiting carter.

"Who was that guard?"

"Nord," replied Cthilian grimly.  "Twice he's been sanctioned by the guard captain for his cruelty.  He's lucky there was no one about to see that."

"Why isn't he sacked?"

"Because Lord Raynig likes him."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully.  "A man with many enemies, eh?"  Leaning forward, he hissed:   "Pssst!"

Cthilian's heart jumped into his throat as the Doctor beckoned to the boys.  They looked toward the hayrick and, after a moment, warily approached.

The Doctor produced a gold coin from his ear.  Cthilian hid a smile.  The boys decided it was worth their while to listen to the smiling "guard."  They clustered around eagerly.

"I've a score to settle with Nord myself."  The Time Lord told them.  "Would you help me?"

The coin wove between his fingers in a most remarkable fashion. Their eyes followed it back and forth across his hand.  The boy Nord had assaulted was most fearless.  He came straight up to the Doctor and stood, grin slowly spreading over his battered face as the Doctor whispered something in his ear.  Then he flipped the viso into the air.  The boy caught it deftly, and dropped it into the pocket of his
shabby jacket.

"Keep an eye out, sir!"  he admonished, and they disappeared into the crowd.

"What. . .?"

"Shhh.  Be ready."

Pulling him toward the gate, the Doctor kept the hayrick between themselves and the two guards aslong as possible.  Nord held the driver up for several minutes, walking slowly around the wagon, thrusting his sword in and out of the hay.  Finally, it passed examination and started ponderously through the gate.  In a moment, they would have no cover.

Through the crowd, in the direction of the kitchens, a sudden chorus of shrieks was heard.  Geese scattered in alarm, ashas bleated as people moved hastily from the path of a dozen or so urchins barreling through the courtyard.  They scattered, producing large, soft red fruits from behind their backs.  Nord bellowed in surprise and outrage as a shower of them rained down upon him.  As quickly as they had appeared, the children melted back into the crowd.  As Nord roared, stumbling about and wiping dripping fruit from his eyes, the people snickered or turned their faces to hide their mirth.

"Tesz, what are you standing there for?  Find those filthy whorespawn!"

Cthilian watched, fascinated, as Nord lumbered toward the tarn, followed reluctantly by a  snickering Tesz.  A hand on his arm brought him back to his senses.

"Come on!"

They were through the gate, running after the swaying hayrick.  The driver twisted about, saw them and waved.  In their wake, chaos reigned.  Before them stretched the park and then freedom.

"Hie!"  The driver of the hayrick called down to them, grinning.   The Doctor looked up and smiled sunnily back.  "You be needing a ride anywhere, sir?"

The infectious grin widened.  "We're headed west, friend.  Any help you can be in getting us there would be appreciated."

"Just happens that's where I'm goin," the driver replied, moving over on the broad seat.  "Climb on up, both of you!"  As they sat beside him, he added:  "I saw that little discussion between you and Pim, the smithy's boy.   A foolhardy move on both your parts, sir!  With his friends, Nord could get you cashiered straight out of the guard.  Still, you've got my approval.   That bastard deserved far worse than a bit of mockery, in my reckoning."

"I hope the boys will be all right," the Doctor said a little anxiously.

The driver harumphed comfortably.  "Amazing the kind of amnesia develops when the guard comes askin' about your own children, eh?"

And, with the driver rambling amiably on, they made their leisurely way west, toward Mzara tarn and, hopefully, Djan and the Lady.

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